Before, During, and After
by WhiskeyTangoFoxtrot
Summary: It's just Leonard McCoy’s luck that he’s so damn attracted to her! But she is skilled. And more than a little sexy. Leonard McCoy and Christine Chapel at the Academy, during the first mission, and afterwards.


**A/N:** A huge thank you to Kerichi for wading through the muck and the mire of my first draft and encouraging a small three shot story of my next favorite ship in Star Trek. And just to get it out there, my version of Christine Chapel would be played by Elizabeth Mitchell (Juliet Burke, Lost). If you haven't read my other L. McCoy story, "The Things He Sees", find it here at: www dot fanfiction dot net/s/5056873/1/The_Things_He_Sees

**Summary:** It is just Leonard McCoy's luck that he's so damn attracted to her! Leonard McCoy and Christine Chapel at the Academy, during the first mission, and afterwards.

* * *

**I.**

Leonard "Bones" McCoy grumbled as he walked toward a sink to wash and disinfect his hands. Today, he had been elbow deep inside a one-hundred-and-eighty-year-old Orion male, who had died from natural causes, and he was fairly certain that if he didn't scrub harder, he would catch something that would kill him.

He looked over to the adjacent sink. "Had fun, Chapel?"

The lean, blond-haired woman didn't look up at his voice, but he saw her grin. "It's my ideal Thursday evening, don't you know." Her soft voice shook slightly due to her own vigorous scrubbing. "Dissecting cadavers from various alien species." She shut off her faucet and shook her hands. "Can't think of anything better."

He chuckled and activated the motion-sensitive compressed air dryer, wringing all moisture from his hands underneath the device. She did the same on another unit, but the smile on her face lingered.

McCoy took a minute to regard her. She was one hell of a cadet. Not that it would be hard to distinguish oneself among an entire class of bird-brained idiots, but McCoy considered her not merely competent but skilled. Highly skilled.

_And pretty... with that hair of hers that never wanted to stay in its bun... those damn eyes... bright blue and sharp as hell... and gods almighty! Her body!_

He stopped himself. Despite whatever Jim said, this was a professional, academic setting. Bones had to keep reminding his friend that the only heavenly bodies he should be studying were the ones in space, not the ones on Earth.

McCoy needed to heed his own advice. He wasn't doing himself any favors ogling Chapel like this. She was a smart woman, a friendly peer. That was all.

_Professional, dammit! I'm a professional!_

"What?"

"Nothing." He shook his head and shrugged.

Chapel pulled a necklace out of her pocket. Reaching up, she secured it so the charm rested in the small dip of her clavicle. It was pretty — a simple gold band with a uniquely-cut diamond in a shape McCoy couldn't identify. She flashed McCoy an amused expression and she folded her arms in front of her chest. "You're looking at me very oddly, Leonard."

He mimicked her stance. "Well, I was thinking that it's good to have someone else around these parts who actually knows what they're doing."

"Who? Me?"

"I am. You're one of the few cadets that won't get the vapors when confronted by a routine phaser burn or typical cysticercosis in a cadaver's digestive tract. These other idiots — they're all nervous, twitchy. They don't have any real world experience."

"Like us?"

"Yeah, like us." He realized his tone was more of a harsher, barking sound than anything that could be categorized as pleasant. But that didn't seem to faze her. Instead, she laughed.

"Thank you for complimenting my constitution. I don't think you're giving our class enough credit, though."

"Maybe," he said, snorting. "I've seen you work in there. You're good, Chapel. You're real good."

"Leonard, I thought I told you to call me Christine." She smirked and raised her eyebrow. "I call you Leonard, but you have to stop addressing me like I'm your football buddy. Or—" She rolled her eyes, "—heaven forbid, Jim Kirk."

He laughed. "Deal. You going back to your place?"

"I am." She smiled, small but warm nonetheless. He returned the gesture, but he promptly fell silent. His brow creased slightly. Of course he wanted to walk back with her, perhaps strike up more of a conversation about Andorian physiology, compliment her again on her talents, for being one of the few cadets that McCoy wouldn't have minded taking care of him.

He had gotten out of the habit of dating, much less flirting. McCoy could barely talk to someone of the opposite sex these days without reverting to rants about space diseases and bacteria and a hearty chorus of, "Why the hell did I sign up for this shit in the first place?"

There was something about Christine that put him at ease. He couldn't pinpoint it, but there was a disarming quality to her sense of humor, even though there seemed to be something else underlying it. He had no idea what, but it didn't stop him from wanting to be in her company.

She cleared her throat. "Were you wanting to know if I was going back to my place because you wanted to walk with me, or did you want someone to walk with you through the scary campus at night?"

It was the teasing tone of her voice, and that playful glint in her eyes, that snapped him out of his stupor. He laughed; it was an awkward, distant sound. "Er, yeah. I'll walk with you." They collected their bags from their lockers, walked out of the door, and for the next thirty minutes, he forced himself not to swear as he conversed with her.

********

A few days later, McCoy stretched as he walked outside his apartment. He was hungry for some breakfast, sure, and the last thing he wanted to do was be in bed whenever Jim and Jim's hot young cadet woke up. Just remembering some of the noises that had managed to cut through his sleep last night just—

McCoy shivered. He started heading for the mess hall, when he saw a figure coming toward him. The comely cadet ran up to him, her blond ponytail, a mass of waves, swinging behind her. A gold chain shimmered around her neck, the ring attached to it bounced left and right. Her workout tank top matched the blue of her eyes perfectly, and when she smiled, McCoy couldn't help but return it.

Damn. Even when running, Christine Chapel looked amazing.

"Leonard!" She huffed out his name, slowing her pace as she approached him.

"Chapel," he replied with a nod. This caused her to roll her eyes and regard him with a thoroughly exasperated expression.

"What in the world do I have to do to get you to call me by my first name? Should I start calling you _Lenny_?"

He cringed, grasping his chest as if hurt. "For Godsakes, no! Alright, alright, I swear I'll start calling you Christine just so long as you don't ever call me Lenny. Ever."

She laughed heartily, a musical sound. "Deal. You jog?"

"I don't make it a habit, no."

She ran in place. McCoy had to struggle not to focus on her chest, which was quite difficult, as she was already sweating, and her workout top was very, _very_ tight. "You know, people say jogging's a way to relieve stress."

He shot her a dubiously amused grin. "Is that your polite way of telling me I'm under stress?"

"Perhaps. Or it's my way of saying that a workout's good for one's soul. And body."

McCoy cocked his eyebrow indignantly. "I'm not sure I want to know what you mean by that."

"Come with me, Leonard," she said, tipping her head at the sidewalk stretched out in front of her. She yanked playfully on his shirt. "It'll be good for you. And I'd love to have your warm personality around to keep me company." She smiled broadly at what she thought was a charming joke. McCoy pursed his mouth shut, but he could feel his lips drifting upward despite himself.

He jerked his thumb behind him toward his apartment. "Can you give me a minute?"

"Don't take too long. I don't want my heart rate to decrease." She winked and held up two fingers to her neck to check her pulse. McCoy shook his head and spun around, his feet pounding on each step.

He burst into his room — and quickly shielded his poor eyes from the sight of his roommate, Jim Kirk, in nothing but his boxers, resuming certain activities with the girl that had spent the night.

"For Chrissakes, Jim!"

"Bones!" Jim grabbed his sheet, and the girl yelped, nearly falling off the bed. "Jeeze, wouldja knock first?"

"It's my damn apartment too!" He grunted, and made for his closet. "I'm going on a run with Chap-, er, Christine." He grabbed a pair of long shorts. "Pardon me, miss." He addressed the half-naked cadet "I'm changing right now. Normally I'd be more modest, but there is a very smart—" He tied the string on his shorts tight. "Very funny—" He kicked off his shoes. "Very beautiful nursing cadet." He jammed his feet into an older pair of sneakers. "Downstairs. And she and I are going for a jog, and, hopefully, I'll get to know her a little bit better."

"N-no problem," the woman stammered, her voice lifting at the end like a question. She clutched a stray article of clothing to her chest.

McCoy glanced at himself in the mirror. He ran his fingers through his hair, realizing that he hadn't bothered to check his appearance that morning.

Jim slammed his hand down hard on his shoulder. "Check your breath, buddy."

McCoy winced, but put his hand up to his mouth and breathed into it. He winced again. It wasn't good.

Jim grabbed a small metal container and shoved it at him. "Here. Mints. Take two… or five." With a couple more pats, Jim jumped back onto his bed. "And _don't_ call me in the morning."

Popping the small, white tablets into his mouth, McCoy turned back around — and saw that his perpetually horny roommate was once again entangled with his giggling paramour. He said nothing else, and instead flung himself out of his apartment to join his new running buddy. He certainly didn't want Christine's heart rate to drop. And, after all, how hard could a little jog be?

********

An hour later, he knew the answer to that question.

It was _worse_ than hard. It was torture.

It was the most godawful thing he had ever put his body through.

McCoy skidded to a halt, bent over and clutched his knees. Pain jolted through his sides, his chest felt like it was on fire.

Goddammit, he was dying.

"Ch-Ch-_Christine_! Wait!" he shouted at the most evil, vicious, sexy woman…

Scratch that. She was wicked. She was the bane of his existence. And as she was jogging ahead of him, she was clearly unfazed by his pain.

She turned around and ran back to him. She continued jogging in place, sweating, controlling her breathing, but smiling placidly. "Too much, Leonard?"

"N-naw… not… too much." He jabbed his finger at his chest. "J-just… h-having… a mild… _severe_… cardiac infarction."

"Do we need to slow down for you? I didn't realize I was pushing you too hard."

"J-jus'… need… to rest." With that, he plopped, hard, down onto the ground, splaying out flat on the green grass. He smacked his lips and groaned in disgust. "I think I can taste my kidneys."

There was a soft sound in the grass as Christine sat next to his head. "No, that's the taste of success."

"I beg to differ. Should I tell you who's my next-of-kin in case I die right here?"

She laughed heartily, and took a swig from a bottle. "You know, one really good thing about you is that you're not overly dramatic about anything, Leonard."

His head fell back to the ground. "I'm too old for this."

"You're only as old as you feel. Here." He felt something hard in his hand; looking down, he saw the same bottle with its dispenser open. "Drink this."

"What is it?" He stared at the object as if it might infect him.

"Enriched water. Special formula for runners."

He eyed it suspiciously. "You sure you're not giving me Romulan Influenza?"

"No, but I do have a raging case of cooties." Her sarcastic comment was punctuated by her gentle smile and innocent blinking.

McCoy snorted as he took a drink and handed it back to her. She was distracted; her finger rubbed the inside of her ring.

McCoy had never heard the story behind it. He figured the ring must be important to her, as it was the one article of jewelry that she was never without. This might have been as good a time as any to approach the topic. But when he opened his mouth, he thought better of it.

"So, you run?"

She cocked her eyebrow and grinned. "Whatever gave you that idea?"

He looked at her flatly. "I meant do you run a lot?"

This time, she allowed herself to smile and laugh more openly. "Yes I do. I started when I was in high school. There was a period of time while I was getting my nursing degree that I fell out of it. When I got up to Chicago, I took up running again. It helped me manage my stress."

"You get stressed?"

She nodded and quirked her eyebrow. "I'm human. I feel stress."

"I thought I was the only one around these parts. You never show it in class."

"I like to think I'm a pretty good at hiding it. You should see me back at the apartment. There's been a few times Janice thought I was having a panic attack." She looked down at her fingers, which were still playing with her ring. "I love running. I even ran two marathons in the Windy City."

He gazed at her, impressed. "Did you now?"

"I did. I didn't win either, but I came in thirty minutes under my best time during my second marathon."

"I must say that's quite impressive."

She smiled. As if remembering that her fingers and her ring were still tangled together, that smile slowly faded. That damn ring! Whatever memories were connected to it, the emotions were still very much there, still dredging up old ghosts of the past. He wondered what she had experienced, but it didn't feel like his place to ask. It might be safer to stick with running.

"Why only two?" He kept his voice light and breezy. "You seem like you've been doing this your whole life."

When she looked back up at him, her face was impassive, as untranslatable for him as a passage of Shakespeare in Klingon. In a soft, steady voice, Christine spoke, "Because the year following that second marathon, my fiancée went missing."

_Oh. Damn._

He hadn't meant to force her into saying anything, but he had. With the skill and precision of a world-class surgeon, he had found the right spot, the perfect spot, on the patient to reopen an old, painful wound.

"I'm sorry."

Christine blinked for a long time. "Don't be." She allowed her lips to turn upward in a lopsided grin, although he recognized the emotion behind it. Regret instead of joy. "It's been six years now since I last saw Roger. Three before coming to Starfleet. I know how unlikely it is that I'll ever see him again."

He swallowed as he watched her hand as it turned the ring around on the chain. "Is that your engagement ring?"

"Mm-hm. It was my ring. I guess I wear it for protection more than anything. Like he's still here, watching out for me." She turned and looked beyond them, at the sidewalk and green grass that they would, eventually, have to take together. She continued talking in that same soft voice as before.

"It's an unpleasant thing to say, but I have to see at a picture now to remember what he looks like." She gazed sadly at McCoy. "I hope that doesn't sound as awful to you as it does to me."

That she spoke without any hesitation or shift in her voice cut McCoy harder than if she had cried or shown any emotion. But her soft demeanor mixed with her pain in a strange way. The longer he watched her, the more brittle and hardened she became. Even her humor seemed to be some sort of defense, a shield to keep her distance from others.

There was as shift in her expression, a quick tightening of her face. As he watched her, Christine relaxed, like she was opening herself back up to him. And then her smile returned — that radiant, mysterious smile.

"Come on." Christine jumped up and held her hand out. "We've still got a mile more to finish, and I won't pester you for the rest of the day."

McCoy took her hand, thinking to inject some humor to break the awkward atmosphere that seemed to have enveloped them. "It's the running I mind. I kind of like the pestering. I enjoy your company."

She smiled kindly at his comment, but he noticed a light blush spreading across her cheeks.

"Besides," he continued, "we've got more Xenopathology tonight at 1800, so we'll be pestering each other well into the evening."

Her smile widened, giving her expression a more genuine feel. "Joy. And I was beginning to think that what this day needed was more Orion anatomy." She lightly whacked him in the stomach. "Let's get going. And try to keep up, Leonard."

He watched as she began to jog away from him. "Hey!" he shouted with mock indignation, and he followed her, pushing himself to match her every step.


End file.
